PETER  RUGG 


PETER  RUGG, 


The  Missing  Man 


BY  WILLIAM  AUSTIN. 


With  a  Notice  of  the  Author.    . 


WORCESTER  : 

FRANKLIN  P.  RICE,  Publisher. 

MDCCCLXXXII. 


WILLIAM  AUSTIN. 

npHE  AUTHOR  of  Peter  Rugg  was  born  in  Charles- 
town,  Mass.,  March  2,  1778.  He  was  graduated  at 
Harvard  College  in  1798.  In  1801  he  delivered  at 
Charlestown,  an  oration  on  the  anniversary  of  the  Battle 
of  Bunker's  Hill,  which  was  printed.  He  passed  two  or 
three  years  abroad,  and  published  in  1804  his  Letters 
from  London.  "The  letters  are  written  with  ease  and 
elegance,  and  show  a  sprightly  inquisitive  mind,  with  a 
strong  flavor  of  what  was  called  in  that  day  'Jacobinism,' 
in  its  judgments  of  affairs  of  church  and  state." 

In  1805,  in  consequence  of  a  misunderstanding  grow- 
ing out  of  a  political  contest,  Austin  engaged  in  a  duel 
with  James  H.  Elliott  and  was  slightly  wounded.  The 
affair  took  place  in  Rhode  Island,  and  Austin's  second 
was  Charles  Pinckney  Sumner,  father  of  Charles  Sumner. 

In  1807,  he  published  a  volume  in  the  Unitarian  in- 
terest, entitled,  An  Essay  on  the  Human  Character  of 
Jesus  Christ.  A  Democrat  in  politics,  it  is  somewhat 
remarkable  that  he  should  have  identified  himself  with 
the  religion  of  the  other  party.  Some  years  later  he  con- 
tributed to  the  first  number  of  the  New  England  Magazine 
a  paper  entitled,  The  Late  Joseph  Natterstrom.  These 
productions  exhibit  his  varied  talents  and  fine  qualities  as 
a  writer. 


M180558 


4  WILLIAM    AUSTIN. 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  production  of  Austin's 
pen  is  the  story  of  Peter  Rugg,  the  Missing  Man.  It  was 
written  for  the  New  England  Galaxy,  and  has  been  re- 
printed many  times.  "It  was,"  says  Buckingham,  "read 
more  than  any  other  communication  that  has  fallen  with- 
in my  knowledge.  It  is  purely  fictitious,  and  originated 
in  the  inventive  genius  of  its  author."  It  belongs  to  that 
class  of  tales  which  have  a  common  origin  in  the  ancient 
legend  of  The  Wandering  Jew.  Austin  adapted  his 
version  to  the  quaint  superstition  of  the  New  England  of 
long  ago. 

William  Austin  maintained  for  many  years  a  high  po- 
sition at  the  bar  of  Suffolk  and  Middlesex.  He  died  at 
Charlestown,  June  27,  1841. 


PETER  RUGG. 


PETER  RUGG, 

The  Missing  Man. 


FROM  JONATHAN  DUNWELL  OF  NEW  YORK, 
TO  MR.   HERMANN  KRAUFF. 

SIR, — Agreeable  to  my  promise,  I  now  re- 
late to  you  all  the  particulars  of  the  lost  man 
and  child,  which  1  have  been  able  to  collect. 
It  is  entirely  owing  to  the  humane  interest 
you  seemed  to  take  in  the  report,  that  I  have 
pursued  the  inquiry  to  the  following  result. 

You  may  remember  that  business  called 
me  to  Boston  in  the  summer  of  1820.  I  sail- 
ed in  the  packet  to  Providence,  and  when  I 
arrived  there,  I  learned  that  every  seat  in  the 
stage  was  engaged.  I  was  thus  obliged  either 
to  wait  a  few  hours,  or  accept  a  seat  with  the 
driver,  who  civilly  offered  me  that  accomoda- 
tion.  Accordingly  I  took  my  seat  by  his  side, 
and  soon  found  him  intelligent  and  commu- 
nicative. 


8  PETER  RUGG, 

When  we  had  travelled  about  ten  miles, 
the  horses  suddenly  threw  their  ears  on  their 
necks  as  flat  as  a  hare's.  Said  the  driver, 
"have  you  a  surtout  with  you?"  "No,"  said 
I,  "why  do  you  ask?"  "You  will  want  one 
soon,"  said  he.  "Do  you  observe  the  ears 
of  all  the  horses?"  "Yes,  and  was  just  about 
to  ask  the  reason."  "They  see  the  storm 
breeder,  and  we  shall  see  him  soon."  At  this 
moment  there  was  not  a  cloud  visible  in  the 
firmament.  Soon  after  a  small  speck  ap- 
peared in  the  road.  "There,"  said  my  com- 
panion, "comes  the  storm  breeder;  he  always 
leaves  a  Scotch  mist  behind  him.  By  many  a 
wet  jacket  I  do  remember  him.  I  suppose 
the  poor  fellow  suffers  much  himself,  much 
more  than  is  known  to  the  world."  Presently 
a  man  with  a  child  beside  him,  with  a  large 
black  horse,  and  a  weather-beaten  chair,  once 
built  for  a  chaise  body,  passed  in  great  haste, 
apparently  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour. 
He  seemed  to  grasp  the  reins  of  his  horse 
with  firmness,  and  appeared  to  anticipate  his 
speed.  He  seemed  dejected,  and  looked 
anxiously  at  the  passengers,  particularly  at 
the  stage  driver  and  myself.  In  a  moment 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  9 

after  he  passed  us,  the  horses'  ears  were  up, 
and  bent  themselves  forward  so  that  they 
nearly  met.  "Who  is  that  man,"  said  I,  "he 
seems  in  great  trouble."  "Nobody  knows 
who  he  is,  but  his  person  and  the  child  are 
familiar  to  me.  I  have  met  him  more  than  a 
hundred  times,  and  have  been  so  often  asked 
the  way  to  Boston  by  that  man,  even  when 
he  was  travelling  directly  from  that  town,  that 
of  late  I  have  refused  any  communication  with 
him;  and  that  is  the  reason  he  gave  such  a 
fixed  look."  "But  does  he  never  stop  any 
where?"  "I  have  never  known  him  to  stop 
any  where  longer  than  to  inquire  the  way  to 
Boston ;  and  let  him  be  where  he  may,  he  will 
tell  you  he  cannot  stay  a  moment,  for  he  must 
reach  Boston  that  night." 

We  were  now  ascending  a  high  hill  in  Wai- 
pole  ;  and  as  we  had  a  fair  view  of  the  heavens 
I  was  rather  disposed  to  jeer  the  driver  for 
thinking  of  his  surtout,  as  not  a  cloud  as  big 
as  a  marble  could  be  discerned.  "Do  you 
look,"  said  he,  "in  the  direction  whence  the 
man  came,  that  is  the  place  to  look;  the  storm 
never  meets  him,  it  follows  him."  We  pres- 
ently approached  another  hill,  and  when  at 


IO  PETER  RUGG, 

the  height,  the  driver  pointed  out  in  an  east- 
ern direction  a  little  black  speck  about  as  big 
as  a  hat.  "There"  said  he  "is  the  seed  storm ; 
we  may  possibly  reach  Policy's  before  it 
reaches  us,  but  the  wanderer  and  his  child 
will  go  to  Providence  through  rain,  thunder 
and  lightning."  And  now  the  horses,  as 
though  taught  by  instinct,  hastened  with  in- 
creased speed.  The  little  black  cloud  came 
on  rolling  over  the  turnpike,  and  doubled  and 
trebled  itself  in  all  directions.  The  appear- 
ance of  this  cloud  attracted  the  notice  of  all 
the  passengers;  for  after  it  had  spread  itself 
to  a  great  bulk,  it  suddenly  became  more 
limited  in  circumference,  grew  more  compact, 
dark  and  consolidated.  And  now  the  suc- 
cessive flashes  of  chain  lightning  caused  the 
whole  cloud  to  appear  like  a  sort  of  irregular 
net  work,  and  displayed  a  thousand  fantastic 
images.  The  driver  bespoke  my  attention 
to  a  remarkable  configuration  in  the  cloud : 
he  said  every  flash  of  lightning  near  its  cen- 
ter discovered  to  him  distinctly  the  form  of  a 
man  sitting  in  an  open  carriage  drawn  by  a 
black  horse.  But  in  truth,  I  saw  no  such 
thing.  The  man's  fancy  was  doubtless  at 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  I  I 

fault.  It  is  a  very  common  thing  for  the 
imagination  to  paint  for  the  senses,  both  in 
the  visible  and  invisible  world. 

In  the  mean  time  the  distant  thunder  gave 
notice  of  a  shower  at  hand;   and  just  as  we 
reached  Policy's  tavern  the  rain  poured  down 
in  torrents.    It  was  soon  over,  the  cloud  pass- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  turnpike  towards 
Providence.     In  a  few  moments  after  a  re- 
spectable looking  man  in  a  chaise  stopped  at 
the  door.     The  man  and  child  in  the  chair 
having  excited  some  little  sympathy  among 
the  passengers,  the  gentleman  was  asked  if 
he  had  observed  them.     He  said  he  had  met 
them;  that  the  man  seemed  bewildered,  and 
inquired  the  way  to  Boston ;  that  he  was  driv- 
ing at  great  speed  as  though  he  expected  to 
outstrip  the  tempest;  that  the  moment  he  had 
passed  him,   a  thunder-clap  broke  distinctly 
over  the  man's  head,  and  seemed  to  envelope 
both  man  and  child,  horse  and  carriage.      "I 
stopped,"  said  the  gentleman,  "supposing  the 
lightning  had  struck  him,  but  the  horse  only 
seemed  to  loom  up  and  increase  his  speed, 
and  as  well  as  I  could  judge  he  travelled  just 
as  fast  as  the  thunder  cloud."  While  this  man 


12  PETER  RUGG, 

was  speaking,  a  pedlar  with  a  cart  of  tin  mer- 
chandise came  up,  all  dripping;  and,  on  being 
questioned,  he  said  he  had  met  that  man  and 
carriage  within  a  fortnight,  in  four  different 
states;  that  at  each  time  he  had  inquired  the 
way  to  Boston,  and  that  a  thunder  shower 
like  the  present,  had  each  time  deluged  his 
wagon  and  his  wares,  setting  his  tin  pots,  &c. 
afloat,  so  that  he  had  determined  to  get  ma- 
rine insurance  done  for  the  future.  But  that 
which  excited  his  surprise  most,  was  the 
strange  conduct  of  his  horse,  for  that  long 
before  he  could  distinguish  the  man  in  the 
chair,  his  own  horse  stood  still  in  the  road 
and  flung  back  his  ears.  <4In  short,"  said  the 
pedlar,  44I  wish  never  to  see  that  man  and 
horse  again ;  they  do  not  look  to  me  as  though 
they  belonged  to  this  world." 

This  was  all  I  could  learn  at  that  time ;  and 
the  occurrence  soon  after,  would  have  become 
with  me,  like  one  of  those  things  which  had 
never  happened,  had  I  not,  as  I  stood  re- 
cently on  the  door-step  of  Bennett's  hotel  in 
Hartford,  heard  a  man  say,  "there  goes  Peter 
Rugg  and  his  child!  he  looks  wet  and  weary, 
and  farther  from  Boston  than  ever."  I  was 


THE   MISSING  MAN.  13 

satisfied  it  was  the  same  man  I  had  seen  more 
than  three  years  before ;  for  whoever  has  once 
seen  Peter  Rugg  can  never  after  be  deceived 
as  to  his  identity.  "Peter  Rugg!"  said  I, 
"and  who  is  Peter  Rugg?"  "That"  said  the 
stranger,  "is  more  than  anyone  can  tell  exact- 
ly. He  is  a  famous  traveller,  held  in  light 
esteem  by  all  innholders,  for  he  never  stops 
to  eat,  drink,  or  sleep.  I  wonder  why  the 
government  does  not  employ  him  to  carry 
the  mail."  "Aye,"  said  a  bystander,  "that  is 
a  thought  bright  only  on  one  side;  how  long 
would  it  take  in  that  case  to  send  a  letter  to 
Boston  ?  Peter  has  already,  to  my  knowledge 
been  more  than  twenty  years  travelling  to 
that  place."  "But,"  said  I,  "does  the  man 
never  stop  any  where,  does  he  never  converse 
with  any  one?  I  saw  the  same  man  more 
than  three  years  since,  near  Providence,  and 
I  heard  a  strange  story  about  him.  Pray  sir 
give  me  some  account  of  this  man."  "Sir," 
said  the  stranger,  "those  who  know  the  most 
respecting  that  man,  say  the  least.  I  have 
heard  it  asserted  that  heaven  sometimes  sets 
a  mark  on  a  man,  either  for  judgment  or  a 
trial.  Under  which  Peter  Rugg  now  labours 


I  4  PETER  RUGG, 

I  cannot  say;  therefore  I  am  rather  inclined  to 
pity  than  to  judge."  "You  speak  like  a  hu- 
mane man,"  said  I,  "and  if  you  have  known 
him  so  long,  I  pray  you  will  give  me  some  ac- 
count of  him.  Has  his  appearance  much  al- 
tered?" "Why  yes,  he  looks  as  though 
he  never  ate,  drank,  or  slept;  and  his  child 
looks  older  than  himself,  and  he  looks  like 
time  broke  off  from  eternity  and  anxious  to 
gain  a  resting  place."  "And  how  does  his 
horse  look?"  said  I.  "As  for  his  horse,  he 
looks  fatter  and  gayer,  and  shows  more  ani- 
mation and  courage  than  he  did  twenty  years 
ago.  The  last  time  Rugg  spoke  to  me  he  in- 
quired how  far  it  was  to  Boston.  I  told  him 
just  one  hundred  miles.  'Why'  said  he,  'how 
can  you  deceive  me  so?  it  is  cruel  to  mislead 
a  traveller.  I  have  lost  my  way ;  pray  direct 
me  the  nearest  way  to  Boston.'  I  repeated 
it  was  one  hundred  miles.  'How  can  you 
say  so?'  said  he,  'I  was  told  last  evening  it 
was  but  fifty,  and  I  have  travelled  all  night.' 
'But,'  said  I,  'you  are  now  travelling  from 
Boston.  You  must  turn  back.'  'Alas,'  said 
he,  'it  is  all  turn  back!  Boston  shifts  with 
the  wind,  and  plays  all  around  the  compass. 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  15 

One  man  tells  me  it  is  to  the  East,  another 
to  the  West ;  and  the  guide  posts  too,  they 
all  point  the  wrong  way.'  'But  will  you  not 
stop  and  rest,'  said  I.  'You  seem  wet  and 
weary.'  'Yes,'  said  he,  'it  has  been  foul 
weather  since  I  left  home.'  'Stop  then,  and 
refresh  yourself.'  'I  must  not  stop,  I  must 
reach  home  to-night  if  possible,  though  I 
think  you  must  be  mistaken  in  the  distance 
to  Boston.'  He  then  gave  the  reins  to  his 
horse,  which  he  had  restrained  with  difficulty, 
and  disappeared  in  a  moment.  A  few  days 
afterwards  I  met  the  man  a  little  this  side  of 
Claremont,  winding  around  the  hills  in  Unity, 
at  the  rate,  I  believe,  of  twelve  miles  an 
hour." 

"Is  Peter  Rugg  his  real  name,  or  has  he 
accidentally  gained  that  name?"  "I  know  not, 
but  presume  he  will  not  deny  his  name,  you 
can  ask  him,  for  see,  he  has  turned  his  horse 
and  is  passing  this  way."  In  a  moment,  a 
dark  colored,  high  spirited  horse  approached, 
and  would  have  passed  without  stopping,  but 
I  had  resolved  to  speak  to  Peter  Rugg,  or 
whoever  the  man  might  be.  Accordingly  I 
stepped  into  the  street,  and  as  the  horse 


I  6  PETER  RUGG, 

approached,  I  made  a  feint  of  stopping  him. 
The  man  immediately  reined  in  his  horse. 
"Sir"  said  I,  "may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire 
if  you  are  not  Mr.  Rugg  ?  for  I  think  I  have 
seen  you  before."  "My  name  is  Peter  Rugg," 
said  he,  "I  have  unfortunately  lost  my  way ; 
I  am  wet  and  weary,  and  will  take  it  kindly 
of  you  to  direct  me  to  Boston."  "You  live  in 
Boston,  do  you,  and  in  what  street?"  "In 
Middle  Street."  "When  did  you  leave  Bos- 
ton ?"  "I  cannot  tell  precisely;  it  seems  a 
considerable  time."  "But  how  did  you  and 
your  child  become  so  wet?  it  has  not  rained 
here  to-day."  "It  has  just  rained  a  heavy 
shower  up  the  river.  But  I  shall  not  reach 
Boston  to-night  if  I  tarry.  Would  you  advise 
me  to  take  the  old  road,  or  the  turnpike  ?" 
"Why,  the  old  road  is  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enteen miles  and  the  turnpike  is  ninty-seven." 
"How  can  you  say  so  ?  you  impose  upon  me  ; 
it  is  wrong  to  trifle  with  a  traveller;  you  know 
it  is  but  forty  miles  from  Newburyport  to 
Boston."  "But  this  is  not  Newburyport;  this 
is  Hartford."  "Do  not  deceive  me  sir.  Is  not 
this  town  Newburyport,  and  the  river  that  I 
have  been  following,  the  Merrimac?"  "No  sir, 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  I  7 

this  is  Hartford,  and  the  river,  the  Connec- 
ticut." He  wrung  his  hands  and  looked  in- 
credulous. "Have  the  rivers,  too,  changed 
their  courses,  as  the  cities  have  changed 
places  ?  But  see,  the  clouds  are  gathering  in 
the  south,  and  we  shall  have  a  rainy  night. 
Ah,  that  fatal  oath!"  He  would  tarry  no 
longer,  his  impatient  horse  leaped  off,  his 
hind  flanks  rising  like  wings,  he  seemed  to 
devour  all  before  him,  and  to  scorn  all  behind. 
I  had  now,  as  I  thought,  discovered  a  clue 
to  the  history  of  Peter  Rugg,  and  I  deter- 
mined, the  next  time  my  business  called  me 
to  Boston,  to  make  a  further  inquiry.  Soon 
after,  I  was  enabled  to  collect  the  following 
particulars  from  Mrs.  Croft,  an  aged  lady  in 
Middle  Street,  who  has  resided  in  Boston 
during  the  last  twenty  years.  Her  narration 
is  this :  The  last  summer  a  person,  just  at 
twilight,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Rugg.  Mrs.  Croft  on  coming  to  the  door, 
perceived  a  stranger,  with  a  child  by  his  side, 
in  an  old  weather-beaten  carriage,  with  a 
black  horse.  The  stranger  asked  for  Mrs. 
Rugg,  and  was  informed  that  Mrs.  Rugg  had 
died  at  a  good  old  age,  more  than  twenty 


I  8  PETER  RUGG, 

years  before  that  time.  The  stranger  replied, 
"How  can  you  deceive  me  so?  do  ask  Mrs. 
Rugg  to  step  to  the  door."  "Sir,  I  assure 
you  Mrs.  Rugg  has  not  lived  here  these  nine- 
teen years;  no  one  lives  here  but  myself,  and 
my  name  is  Betsey  Croft."  The  stranger 
paused,  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street, 
and  said,  "though  the  painting  is  rather  faded 
this  looks  like  my  house."  "Yes,"  said  the 
child,  "there  is  the  stone  before  the  door  that 
I  used  to  sit  on  to  eat  my  bread  and  milk." 
"But,"  said  the  stranger,  "it  seems  to  be  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  street.  Indeed,  every- 
thing here  seems  to  be  misplaced.  The  streets 
are  all  changed,  the  people  are  all  changed, 
the  town  seems  changed,  and  what  is  strang- 
est of  all,  Catharine  Rugg  has  deserted  her 
husband  and  child.  Pray,"  continued  the 
stranger,  "has  John  Foy  come  home  from  sea? 
he  went  a  long  voyage — he  is  my  kinsman. 
If  I  could  see  him,  he  could  give  me  some 
account  of  Mrs.  Rugg."  "Sir,"  said  Mrs. 
Croft,  "I  never  heard  of  John  Foy.  Where 
did  he  live?"  "Just  above  here,  in  Orange 
Tree  Lane."  "There  is  no  such  place  in 
this  neighborhood."  "What  do  you  tell  me! 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  19 

Are  the  streets  gone?  Orange  Tree  Lane  is 
at  the  head  of  Hanover  Street,  near  Pember- 
ton's  hill."  ''There  is  no  such  lane  now." 
"Madam!  you  cannot  be  serious.  But  you 
doubtless  know  my  brother,  William  Rugg. 
He  lives  in  Royal  Exchange  Lane,  near  King 
Street."  "I  know  of  no  such  lane;  and  I  am 
sure  there  is  no  such  street  as  King  Street 
in  this  town."  "No  such  street  as  King  Street? 
Why,  woman!  you  mock  me.  You  may  as 
well  tell  me  there  is  no  King  George.  How- 
ever,, madam,  you  see  I  am  wet  and  weary. 
I  must  find  a  resting  place.  I  will  go  to 
Hart's  tavern  near  the  market."  "Which  mar- 
ket, sir?  for  you  seem  perplexed;  we  have 
several  markets."  "You  know  there  is  but 
one  market  near  the  town  dock."  "O,  the 
old  market.  But  no  one  has  kept  there  these 
twenty  years." 

Here  the  stranger  seemed  disconcerted, 
and  muttered  to  himself  audibly,  "Strange 
mistake.  How  much  this  looks  like  Boston.  It 
certainly  has  a  great  resemblance  to  it;  but  I 
perceive  my  mistake  now.  Some  other  Mrs. 
Rugg,  some  other  Middle  Street."  Then  said 
he,  "madam,  can  you  direct  me  to  Boston?" 


2O  PETER  RUGG, 

''Why  this  is  Boston,  the  city  of  Boston.  I 
know  of  no  other  Boston."  "City  of  Boston 
it  may  be,  but  it  is  not  the  Boston  where  I 
live.  I  recollect  now,  I  came  over  a  bridge 
instead  of  a  ferry.  Pray  what  bridge  is  that 
I  just  came  over?"  "It  is  Charles  River 
Bridge."  "I  perceive  my  mistake,  there  is  a 
ferry  between  Boston  and  Charlestown,  there 
is  no  bridge.  Ah,  I  perceive  my  mistake.  If 
I  was  in  Boston,  my  horse  would  carry  me 
directly  to  my  own  door.  But  my  horse  shows 
by  his  impatience  that  he  is  in  a  strange  place. 
Absurd,  that  I  should  have  mistaken  this 
place  for  the  old  town  of  Boston !  It  is  a  much 
finer  city  than  the  town  of  Boston.  It  has 
been  built  long  since  Boston.  I  fancy  it  must 
lie  at  a  distance  from  this  city,  as  the  good 
woman  seems  ignorant  of  it."  At  these  words 
his  horse  began  to  chafe,  and  strike  the  pave- 
ment with  his  fore  feet;  the  stranger  seemed 
a  little  bewildered,  and  said  "no  home  to- 
night," and  giving  the  reins  to  his  horse  dis- 
appeared in  the  darkness. 

It  was  evident  that  the  generation  to  which 
Peter  Rugg  belonged  had  passed  away. 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  21 

This  was  all  the  account  of  Peter  Rugg  I 
could  obtain  from  Mrs.  Croft;  but  she  direct- 
ed me  to  an  elderly  man,  Mr.  James  Felt, 
who  lived  near  her,  and  who  had  kept  a  rec- 
ord of  the  principal  occurrences  for  the  last 
fifty  years.  At  my  request  she  sent  for  him; 
and,  after  I  had  related  to  him  the  object  of 
my  inquiry,  Mr.  Felt  told  me  he  had  known 
Rugg  in  his  youth ;  that  his  disappearance  had 
caused  some  surprise;  but  as  it  sometimes 
happens  that  men  run  away,  sometimes  to  be 
rid  of  others,  and  sometimes  to  be  rid  of 
themselves;  and  Rugg  took  his  child  with 
him,  and  his  own  horse  and  chair;  and  as  it 
did  not  appear  that  any  creditors  made  a  stir, 
the  occurrence  soon  mingled  itself  in  the 
stream  of  oblivion ;  and  Rugg  and  his  child, 
horse  and  chair,  were  soon  forgotten.  "It  is 
true,"  said  Mr.  Felt,  "sundry  stories  grew  out 
of  Rugg's  affair,  whether  true  or  false  I  can- 
not tell ;  but  stranger  things  have  happened 
in  my  day,  without  even  a  newspaper  notice." 
"Sir,"  said  I,  "Peter  Rugg  is  now  living.  I 
have  lately  seen  Peter  Rugg  and  his  child, 
horse  and  chair;  therefore  I  pray  you  to  re- 
late to  me  all  that  you  know  or  ever  heard  of 


22  PETER  RUGG, 

him."  "Why,  my  friend,"  said  James  Felt, 
"that  Peter  Rugg  is  now  a  living  man  I  will 
not  deny;  but  that  you  have  seen  Peter  Rugg 
and  his  child  is  impossible,  if  you  mean  a 
small  child,  for  Jenny  Rugg  if  living,  must  be 
at  least — let  me  see — Boston  massacre,  1770 
— Jenny  was  about  ten  years  old.  Why  sir, 
Jenny  Rugg  if  living  must  be  more  than  sixty 
years  of  age.  That  Peter  Rugg  is  living  is 
highly  probable,  as  he  was  only  ten  years 
older  than  myself;  and  I  was  only  eighty  last 
March,  and  I  am  as  likely  to  live  twenty  years 
as  any  man."  Here  I  perceived  that  Mr.  Felt 
was  in  his  dotage,  and  I  despaired  of  gaining 
any  intelligence  from  him  on  which  I  could 
depend. 

I  took  my  leave  of  Mrs.  Croft,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  my  lodgings  at  the  Marlborough 
Hotel. 

If  Peter  Rugg,  thought  I,  has  been  travel- 
ing since  the  Boston  massacre,  there  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  travel  to  the  end 
of  time.  If  the  present  generation  know  lit- 
tle of  him,  the  next  will  know  less,  and  Peter 
and  his  child  will  have  no  hold  on  this  world. 


t  THE  MISSING  MAN.  23 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  I  related  my 
adventure  in  Middle  Street.  "Ha,"  said  one 
of  the  company,  smiling,  "do  you  really  think 
you  have  seen  Peter  Rugg?  I  have  heard  my 
grandfather  speak  of  him  as  though  he  serious- 
ly believed  his  own  story."  "Sir,"  said  I,  "pray 
let  us  compare  your  grandfather's  story  of  Mr. 
Rugg  with  my  own."  "Peter  Rugg,  sir,  if  my 
grandfather  was  worthy  of  credit,  once  lived 
in  Middle  Street  in  this  city.  He  was  a  man 
in  comfortable  circumstances,  had  a  wife  and 
one  daughter,  and  was  generally  esteemed  for 
his  sober  life  and  manners.  But  unhappily  his 
temper  at  times,  was  altogether  ungovern- 
able, and  then  his  language  was  terrible.  In 
these  fits  of  passion,  if  a  door  stood  in  his  way 
he  would  never  do  less  than  kick  a  panel 
through.  He  would  sometimes  throw  his  heels 
over  his  head,  and  come  down  on  his  feet, 
uttering  oaths  in  a  circle;  and  thus  in  a  rage, 
he  was  the  first  who  performed  a  somerset, 
and  did  what  others  have  since  learned  to  do 
for  merriment  and  money.  Once,  Rugg  was 
seen  to  bite  a  tenpenny  nail  in  halves.  In 
those  days,  everybody,  both  men  and  boys 
wore  wigs;  and  Peter  at  these  moments  of 


24  PETER  RUGG, 

violent  passion  would  become  so  profane  that 
his  wig  would  rise  up  from  his  head.  Some 
said  it  was  on  account  of  his  terrible  lan- 
guage ;  others  accounted  for  it  in  a  more 
philosophical  way,  and  said  it  was  caused  by 
the  expansion  of  his  scalp,  as  violent  passion 
we  know  will  swell  the  veins  and  expand  the 
head.  While  these  fits  were  on  him,  Rugg 
had  no  respect  for  heaven  or  earth.  Except 
this  infirmity,  all  agreed  that  Rugg  was  a 
good  sort  of  a  man ;  for  when  his  fits  were 
over,  nobody  was  so  ready  to  commend  a 
placid  temper  as  Peter. 

"It  was  late  in  autumn  one  morning,  that 
Rugg  in  his  own  chair  with  a  fine  black  horse, 
took  his  daughter  and  proceeded  to  Concord. 
On  his  return,  a  violent  storm  overtook  him. 
At  dark,  he  stopped  in  Menotomy,  (now 
West  Cambridge)  at  the  door  of  a  Mr.  Cut- 
ter, a  friend  of  his,  who  urged  him  to  tarry 
over  night.  On  Rugg's  declining  to  stop  Mr. 
Cutter  urged  him  vehemently.  'Why,  Mr. 
Rugg,'  said  he,  'the  storm  is  overwhelming 
you;  the  night  is  exceeding  dark;  your  little 
daughter  will  perish;  you  are  in  an  open  chair 
and  the  storm  is  increasing.'  'Let  the  storm 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  25 

increase^  said  Rugg  with  a  fearful  oath,  '/ 
will  see  home  to-night  in  spite  of  the  last  tem- 
pest!  or  may  I  never  see  home'  At  these 
words  he  gave  his  whip  to  his  high  spirited 
horse,  and  disappeared  in  a  moment.  But 
Peter  Rugg  did  not  reach  home  that  night, 
nor  the  next;  nor,  when  he  became  a  missing 
man,  could  he  ever  be  traced  beyond  Mr. 
Cutter's  in  Menotomy.  For  a  long  time  after, 
on  every  dark  and  stormy  night,  the  wife  of 
Peter  Rugg  would  fancy  she  heard  the  crack 
of  a  whip,  and  the  fleet  tread  of  a  horse,  and 
the  rattling  of  a  carriage,  passing  her  door. 
The  neighbors  too,  heard  the  same  noises, 
and  some  said  they  knew  it  was  Rugg's  horse ; 
the  tread  on  the  pavement  was  perfectly  fa- 
miliar to  them.  This  occurred  so  often,  that  at 
length  the  neighbors  watched  with  lanterns, 
and  saw  the  real  Peter  Rugg,  with  his  horse 
and  chair,  and  child  sitting  beside  him,  pass 
directly  before  his  own  door,  his  head  turned 
towards  his  house,  and  himself  making  every 
effort  to  stop  his  horse,  but  in  vain.  The  next 
day,  the  friends  of  Mrs.  Rugg  exerted  them- 
selves to  find  her  husband  and  child.  They 
inquired  at  every  public  house  and  stable  in 


26  PETER  RUGO;, 

town;  but  it  did  not  appear  that  Rugg  made 
any  stay  in  Boston.  No  one,  after  Rugg  had 
passed  his  own  door,  could  give  any  account 
of  him;  though  it  was  asserted  by  some  that 
the  clatter  of  Rugg's  horse  and  carriage  on 
the  pavements  shook  the  houses  on  both  sides 
of  the  street.  And  this  is  credible,  if  indeed 
Rugg's  horse  and  carriage  did  pass  on  that 
night.  For  at  this  day,  in  many  of  the  streets, 
a  loaded  truck  or  team  in  passing  will  shake 
the  houses  like  an  earthquake.  However, 
Rugg's  neighbors  never  afterwards  watched ; 
some  of  them  treated  it  as  a  delusion,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it.  Others  of  a  different 
opinion,  shook  their  heads  and  said  nothing. 
Thus  Rugg  and  his  child,  horse  and  chair, 
were  soon  forgotten ;  and  probably  many  in 
this  neighborhood  never  heard  a  word  on  the 
subject. 

''There  was  indeed  a  rumor,  that  Rugg  af- 
terwards was  seen  in  Connecticut,  between 
Suffield  and  Hartford,  passing  through  the 
country  like  a  streak  of  chalk.  This  gave 
occasion  to  Rugg's  friends  to  make  further 
inquiry.  But  the  more  they  inquired,  the 
more  they  were  baffled.  If  they  heard  of 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  2  7 

Rugg  one  day  in  Connecticut,  the  next  they 
heard  of  him  winding  round  the  hills  in  New 
Hampshire;  and  soon  after,  a  man  in  a  chair, 
with  a  small  child,  exactly  answering  the  de- 
scription of  Peter  Rugg,  would  be  seen  in 
Rhode  Island,  inquiring  the  way  to  Boston. 

"But  that  which  chiefly  gave  a  color  of 
mystery  to  the  story  of  Peter  Rugg,  was  the 
affair  at  Charlestown  Bridge.  The  toll  gath- 
erer asserted  that  sometimes,  on  the  darkest 
and  most  stormy  nights,  when  no  object  could 
be  discerned,  about  the  time  Rugg  was  miss- 
ing, a  horse  and  wheel  carriage,  with  a  noise 
equal  to  a  troop,  would  at  midnight  in  utter 
contempt  of  the  rates  of  toll,  pass  over  the 
bridge.  This  occurred  so  frequently  that  the 
toll  gatherer  resolved  to  attempt  a  discovery. 
Soon  after,  at  the  usual  time,  apparently  the 
same  horse  and  carriage  approached  the 
bridge  from  Charlestown  square.  The  toll 
gatherer,  prepared,  took  his  stand  as  near  the 
middle  of  the  bridge  as  he  dared,  with  a  large 
three-legged  stool  in  his  hand.  As  the  ap- 
pearance passed,  he  threw  the  stool  at  the 
horse,  but  heard  nothing  except  the  noise  of 
the  stool  skipping  across  the  bridge.  The 


28  PETER  RUGG, 

toll  gatherer  on  the  next  day  asserted  that 
the  stool  went  directly  through  the  body  of 
the  horse,  and  he  persisted  in  that  belief  ever 
after.  Whether  Rugg,  or  whoever  the  per- 
son was,  ever  passed  the  bridge  again,  the 
toll  gatherer  would  never  tell;  and  when 
questioned  seemed  anxious  to  waive  the  sub- 
ject. And  thus  Peter  Rugg  and  his  child, 
horse  and  carriage,  remain  a  mystery  to  this 
day." 

This,  sir,  is  all  that  I  could  learn  of  Peter 
Rugg  in  Boston. 


FURTHER  ACCOUNT  OF  PETER  RUGG. 

BY  JONATHAN  DUNWELL. 

In  the  autumn  of  1825,  I  attended  the 
races  at  Richmond  in  Virginia;  as  two  new 
horses  of  great  promise  were  run,  the  race- 
ground  was  never  better  attended,  nor  was 
expectation  ever  more  deeply  excited.  The 
partizans  of  Dart  and  Lightning,  the  two  race 
horses  were  equally  anxious,  and  equally  du- 
bious of  the  result.  To  an  indifferent  spec- 
tator it  was  impossible  to  perceive  any  differ- 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  29 

ence.  They  were  equally  beautiful  to  behold, 
alike  in  color  and  height,  and  as  they  stood 
side  by  side,  they  measured  from  heel  to  fore 
feet  within  half  an  inch  of  each  other.  The 
eyes  of  each  were  full,  prominent  and  reso- 
lute, and  when  at  times  they  regarded  each 
other,  they  assumed  a  lofty  demeanor,  seem- 
ed to  shorten  their  necks,  project  their  eyes, 
and  rest  their  bodies  equally  on  their  four 
hoofs.  They  certainly  discovered  signs  of 
intelligence,  and  displayed  a  courtesy  to  each 
other,  unusual  even  with  statesmen.  It  was 
now  nearly  i  2  o'clock,  the  hour  of  expecta- 
tion, doubt  and  anxiety.  The  riders  mounted 
their  horses;  and  so  trim,  light  and  airy  they 
sat  on  the  animals,  they  seemed  a  part  of 
them.  The  spectators,  many  deep,  in  a  solid 
column,  had  taken  their  places;  and  as  many 
thousand  breathing  statues  were  there  as 
spectators.  All  eyes  were  turned  to  Dart 
and  Lightning  and  their  riders.  There  was 
nothing  to  disturb  this  calm  except  a  busy 
woodpecker  on  a  neighboring  tree.  The 
signal  was  given  and  Dart  and  Lightning 
answered  with  ready  intelligence.  At  first 
they  proceed  at  a  slow  trot,  then  they  quicken 


30  PETER  RUGG, 

into  a  canter  and  then  into  a  run.  Presently 
they  sweep  the  plain;  both  horses  lay  them- 
selves flat  to  the  ground,  their  riders  bending 
forward  and  resting  their  chins  between  their 
horses'  ears.  Had  not  the  ground  been  per- 
fectly level,  had  there  been  any  undulation, 
the  least  rise  and  fall,  the  spectator  would 
have  lost  sight  of  both  horses  and  riders. 
But  while  these  horses,  side  by  side,  thus 
appeared,  flying  without  wings,  flat  as  a  hare, 
and  neither  gained  on  the  other,  all  eyes  were 
diverted  to  a  new  spectacle.  Directly  in  the 
rear  of  Dart  and  Lightning,  a  majestic  black 
horse  of  unusual  size,  drawing  an  old  weather 
beaten  chair,  strode  over  the  plain ;  and  al- 
though he  appeared  to  make  no  effort,  for  he 
maintained  a  steady  trot,  before  Dart  and 
Lightning  approached  the  goal,  the  black 
horse  and  chair  had  overtaken  the  racers, 
who,  on  perceiving  this  new  competitor  pass 
them,  threw  back  their  ears  and  suddenly 
stopped  in  their  course.  Thus  neither  Dart 
nor  Lightning  carried  away  the  purse.  The 
spectators  now  were  exceedingly  curious  to 
learn  whence  came  the  black  horse  and  chair. 
With  many  it  was  the  opinion  that  nobody 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  3! 

was  in  the  vehicle.  Indeed  this  began  to  be 
the  prevalent  opinion,  for  those  at  a  short 
distance,  so  fleet  was  the  horse,  could  not 
easily  discern  who,  if  any  body  was  in  the 
carriage.  But  both  the  riders,  whom  the 
black  horse  passed  very  nearly,  agreed  in 
this  particular,  that  a  sad  looking  man  with 
a  little  girl  was  in  the  chair.  When  they 
stated  this  I  was  satisfied  it  was  Peter  Rugg. 
But  what  caused  no  little  surprise,  John 
Spring,  one  of  the  riders,  he  who  rode  Light- 
ning, asserted  that  no  earthly  horse,  without 
breaking  his  trot,  could  in  a  carriage  outstrip 
his  race  horse ;  and  he  persisted  with  some 
passion  that  it  was  not  a  horse,  but  a  large 
black  ox.  "What  a  great  black  ox  can  do," 
said  John,  UI  cannot  pretend  to  say;  but  no 
race  horse,  not  even  Flying  Childers,  could 
out-trot  Lightning  in  a  fair  race." 

This  opinion  of  John  Spring  excited  no 
little  merriment,  for  it  was  clear  to  every  one 
that  it  was  a  powerful  black  horse  that  had 
interupted  the  race ;  but  John  Spring,  jealous 
of  Lightning's  reputation  as  a  horse,  would 
rather  have  it  thought  that  any  other  beast, 
even  an  ox,  had  been  the  victor.  However, 


32  PETER  RUGG, 

the  horse-laugh  at  John  Spring's  expense 
was  soon  suppressed;  for  as  soon  as  Dart 
and  Lightning  began  to  breathe  more  freely, 
it  was  observed  that  both  of  them  walked 
deliberately  to  the  track  of  the  race  ground, 
and  putting  their  heads  to  the  earth,  suddenly 
raised  them  and  began  to  snort.  John  Spring 
said  ''the  horses  have  discovered  something 
strange;  they  suspect  foul  play.  Let  me  go 
and  talk  with  Lightning."  He  went  to  Light- 
ning and  took  hold  of  his  mane,  and  Light- 
ning put  his  nose  to  the  ground  and  smelt 
of  the  earth  without  touching  it,  and  then 
reared  his  head  very  high  and  snorted  so 
loudly  that  the  sound  echoed  from  the  next 
hill.  Dart  did  the  same.  Spring  stooped 
down  to  examine  the  spot.  In  a  second  he 
raised  himself  up,  and  the  countenance  of  the 
man  was  changed;  his  strength  failed  him, 
and  he  sidled  against  Lightning.  When  he 
recovered  he  exclaimed  "it  was  an  ox !  I  told 
you  it  was  an  ox.  No  real  horse  could  beat 
Lightning."  And  now  on  a  close  inspection 
of  the  black  horse's  tracks  in  the  path,  it  was 
evident  to  every  one  that  the  fore  feet  were 
cloven.  Notwithstanding  these  appearances, 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  33 

to  me  it  was  evident  that  the  strange  horse 
was  in  reality  a  horse.  Yet  when  the  people 
left  the  race  ground,  I  presume  one  half  would 
have  testified  that  a  large  black  ox  had  dis- 
tanced two  of  the  fleetest  coursers  that  ever 
trod  the  Virginia  turf.  So  uncertain  are  all 
things  called  historical  facts. 

While  I  was  proceeding  to  my  lodgings, 
pondering  on  the  events  of  the  day,  a  stranger 
rode  up  to  me  and  accosted  me  thus,  "I  think 
your  name  is  Dunwell,  sir?"  "Yes  sir,"  I  re- 
plied. "Did  I  not  see  you  a  year  or  two  since 
in  Boston,  at  the  Marlborough  Hotel?"  "Very 
likely  sir,  for  I  was  there."  "And  you  heard 
a  story  about  one  Peter  Rugg?"  "I  recollect 
it  all,"  said  I.  "The  account  you  heard  in 
Boston  must  be  true,  for  here  he  was  to-day. 
The  man  has  found  his  way  to  Virginia,  and 
for  aught  that  appears,  has  been  to  Cape 
Horn.  I  have  seen  him  before  to-day,  but 
never  saw  him  travel  with  such  fearful  veloc- 
ity. Pray  sir,  where  does  Peter  Rugg  spend 
his  winters?  for  I  have  seen  him  only  in  sum- 
mer, and  always  in  foul  weather,  except  at 
this  time."  I  replied,  "no  one  knows  where 
Peter  Rugg  spends  his  winters;  where  he 


34  PETER  RUGG, 

eats,  drinks  or  lodges.  He  seems  to  have  an 
indistinct  idea  of  day  and  night,  time  and 
space,  storm  and  sunshine.  His  only  object 
is  Boston.  It  appears  to  me  that  Rugg's 
horse  has  some  control  of  the  chair;  and  that 
Rugg  himself  is  in  some  sort  under  the  con- 
trol of  his  horse."  I  then  inquired  of  the 
stranger  where  he  first  saw  the  man  and  horse. 
"Why  sir,"  said  he,  "In  the  summer  of  1824 
I  travelled  to  the  North  for  my  health,  and 
soon  after  I  saw  you  at  the  Marlborough  Ho- 
tel, I  returned  homeward  to  Virginia,  and,  if 
my  memory  is  correct,  I  saw  this  man  and 
horse  in  every  state  between  here  and  Massa- 
chusetts. Sometimes  he  would  meet  me, 
but  oftener  overtake  me.  He  never  spoke 
but  once,  and  that  once  was  in  Delaware. 
On  his  approach  he  checked  his  horse  with 
some  difficulty.  A  more  beautiful  horse  I 
never  saw:  his  hide  was  as  fair  and  rotund 
and  glossy  as  the  skin  of  a  Congo  beauty. 
When  Rugg's  horse  approached  mine,  he 
reined  in  his  neck,  bent  his  ears  forward  un- 
til they  met,  and  looked  my  horse  full  in  the 
face,  My  horse  immediately  withered  into 
half  a  horse ;  his  hide  curled  up  like  a  piece 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  35 

of  burnt  leather,  spell  bound,  he  was  fixed  to 
the  earth  as  though  a  nail  had  been  driven 
through  each  hoof.  'Sir,'  said  Rugg,  'perhaps 
you  are  travelling  to  Boston,  and  if  so,  I 
should  be  happy  to  accompany  you  for  I  have 
lost  my  way,  and  I  must  reach  home  to-night. 
See  how  sleepy  this  little  girl  looks;  poor 
thing,  she  is  a  picture  of  patience.'  'Sir,'  said 
I,  'it  is  impossible  for  you  to  reach  home  to- 
night, for  you  are  in  Concord  in  the  County 
of  Sussex,  in  the  State  of  Delaware.'  'What 
do  you  mean,'  said  he,  'by  state  of  Delaware? 
If  I  was  in  Concord,  that  is  only  twenty  miles 
from  Boston,  and  my  horse  Lightfoot  could 
carry  me  to  Charlestown  ferry  in  less  than 
two  hours.  You  mistake  sir,  you  are  a  stran- 
ger here,  this  town  is  nothing  like  Concord. 
I  am  well  acquainted  with  Concord.  I  went 
to  Concord  when  I  left  Boston.'  'But,'  said 
I,  'you  are  in  Concord  in  the  State  of  Dela- 
ware.' 'What  do  you  mean  by  state?'  said 
Rugg.  'Why  one  of  the  United  States.' 
'States,'  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  'the  man  is  a 
wag,  and  would  persuade  me  that  I  am  in 
Holland.'  Then  raising  his  voice,  he  said 
4you  seem  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  I  entreat 


36  PETER  RUGG, 

you  not  to  mislead  me;  tell  me  quickly,  for 
pity's  sake,  the  right  road  to  Boston,  for  you 
see  my  horse  will  swallow  his  bitts,  for  he  has 
eaten  nothing  since  I  left  Concord.'  'Sir,' 
said  I,  'this  town  is  Concord,  Concord  in  Del- 
aware, not  Concord  in  Massachusetts;  and 
you  are  now  five  hundred  miles  from  Boston.' 
Rugg  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  more  in 
sorrow  than  resentment,  and  then  repeated, 
'five  hundred  miles!  unhappy  man!  who 
would  have  thought  that  he  was  deranged ! 
But  nothing  is  so  deceitful  as  appearances,  in 
this  world.  Five  hundred  miles!  this  beats 
Connecticut  River.'  What  he  meant  by  Con- 
necticut River,  I  know  not.  His  horse  broke 
away  and  he  disappeared  in  a  moment." 

I  explained  to  the  stranger  the  meaning  of 
Rugg's  expression,  "Connecticut  River,"  and 
the  incident  at  Hartford,  as  I  stood  at  the 
door  of  Mr.  Bennett's  excellent  hotel.  We 
both  agreed  that  the  man  we  had  seen  that 
day  was  the  true  Peter  Rugg. 

Soon  after,  I  saw  Rugg  again  at  the  toll- 
gate  on  the  turnpike  between  Alexandria  and 
Middleburgh.  While  I  was  paying  the  toll, 
I  observed  to  the  toll-gatherer  that  the  effects 


THE  MISSING  MAX.  37 

of  the  drought  were  more  severe  in  his  vicin- 
ity than  farther  south.  "Yes,"  said  he,  "the 
drought  is  excessive;  but  if  I  had  not  heard 

o 

yesterday  by  a  traveller,  that  the  man  with 
the  black  horse  was  seen  in  Kentucky  a  day 
or  two  since,  I  should  be  sure  of  a  shower  in 
a  few  minutes."  I  looked  all  around  the  ho- 
rizon, and  could  not  discern  a  cloud  that 
could  hold  a  pint  of  water.  "Look,  sir,''  said 
the  toll-gatherer,  "you  perceive  to  the  East- 
ward, just  rising  that  hill  a  small  black  cloud 
not  bigger  than  a  black-berry,  and  while  I  am 
speaking  it  is  doubling  and  trebling  itself, 
and  rolling  up  the  turnpike  steadily,  as  if  its 
sole  design  was  to  deluge  some  object." 
"True,"  said  I,  "I  do  perceive  it  *  but  what 
connection  is  there  between  a  thunder  cloud 
and  a  man  and  a  horse?"  "More  than  you 
imagine,  or  I  can  tell  you ;  but  stop  a  moment, 
sir,  I  may  need  your  assistance.  I  know  that 
cloud,  I  have  seen  it  several  times  before,  and 
can  testify  to  its  identity.  You  will  soon  see 
a  man  and  black  horse  under  it."  While  he 
was  yet  speaking,  true  enough,  we  began  to 
hear  the  distant  thunder,  and  soon  the  chain 
lightning  performed  all  the  figures  of  a 


38  PETER  RUGG, 

country  dance.  About  a  mile  distant,  we  saw 
the  man  and  black  horse  under  the  cloud; 
but  before  he  arrived  at  the  toll  gate,  the 
thunder  cloud  had  spent  itself,  and  not  even 
a  sprinkle  fell  near  us.  As  the  man,  whom 
I  instantly  knew  to  be  Rugg,  attempted  to 
pass,  the  toll-gatherer  swung  the  gate  across 
the  road,  seized  Rugg's  horse  by  the  reins, 
and  demanded  two  dollars.  Feeling  some 
regard  for  Rugg,  I  interfered,  and  began  to 
question  the  toll-gatherer,  and  requested  him 
not  to  be  wroth  with  the  man.  He  replied 
that  he  had  just  cause,  for  the  man  had  run 
his  toll  ten  times,  and  moreover  that  the 
horse  had  discharged  a  cannon  ball  at  him  to 
the  great  clanger  of  his  life ;  that  the  man  had 
always  before  approached  so  rapidly  that  he 
was  too  quick  for  the  rusty  hinges  of  the  toll 
gate;  but  that  now  he  would  have  full  satis- 
faction. Rugg  looked  wistfully  at  me,  and 
said,  "I  entreat  you,  sir,  to  delay  me  not.  I 
have  found  at  length  the  direct  road  to  Bos- 
ton, and  shall  not  reach  home  to-night  if  you 
detain  me :  you  see  I  am  dripping  wet,  and 
ought  to  change  my  clothes."  The  toll-gath- 
erer then  demanded  why  he  had  run  his  toll 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  39 

so  many  times.  "Toll!"  said  Rugg,  "why  do 
you  demand  toll?  There  is  no  toll  to  pay  on 
the  King's  highway."  "King's  highway!  do 
you  not  perceive  that  this  is  a  turnpike?" 
"Turnpike!  there  are  no  turnpikes  in  Massa- 
chusetts." "That  may  be,  but  we  have  sev- 
eral in  Virginia."  "Virginia!  do  you  pretend 
that  I  am  in  Virginia? 

Rugg  then  appealed  to  me,  and  asked  how 
far  jt  was  to  Boston.  Said  I,  "Mr.  Rugg,  I 
perceive  you  are  bewildered,  and  am  sorry 
to  see  you  so  far  from  home ;  you  are  indeed 
in  Virginia."  "You  know  me  then,  sir,  it 
seems,  and  you  say  I  am  in  Virginia.  Give 
me  leave  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  you  are  the 
most  impudent  man  alive,  for  I  was  never 
forty  miles  from  Boston,  and  I  never  saw  a 
Virginian  in  my  life.  This  beats  Delaware." 
"Your  toll,  sir,  your  toll!"  "I  will  not  pay 
you  a  penny,"  said  Rugg,  you  are  both  of  you 
highway  robbers ;  there  are  no  turnpikes  in 
this  country.  Take  toll  on  the  King's  high- 
way!  Robbers  take  toll  on  the  King's  high- 
way." Then  in  a  low  tone  he  said,  "here  is 
evidently  a  conspiracy  against  me;  alas!  I 
shall  never  see  Boston  !  The  highways  refuse 


4O  PETER  RUGG, 

me  a  passage,  the  rivers  change  their  courses, 
and  there  is  no  faith  in  the  compass."  But 
Rugg's  horse  had  no  idea  of  stopping  more 
than  one  minute,  for  in  the  midst  of  this  al- 
tercation, the  horse,  whose  nose  was  resting 
on  the  upper  bar  of  the  turnpike  gate,  seized 
it  between  his  teeth,  lifted  it  gently  off  its 
staples,  and  trotted  off  with  it.  The  toll- 
gatherer,  confounded,  strained  his  eyes  after 
his  gate.  "Let  him  go,"  said  I,  "the  horse 
will  soon  drop  your  gate,  and  you  will  get  it 
again." 

I  then  questioned  the  toll-gatherer  re- 
specting his  knowledge  of  this  man,  and  he 
related  the  following  particulars  :  "The  first 
time,"  said  he,  "that  man  ever  passed  this  toll 
gate  was  in  the  year  1806,  at  the  moment  of 
the  great  eclipse.  I  thought  the  horse  was 
frightened  at  the  sudden  darkness,  and  con- 
cluded he  had  run  away  with  the  man.  But 
within  a  few  days  after,  the  same  man  and 
horse  repassed  with  equal  speed,  without  the 
least  respect  to  the  toll  gate  or  to  me,  except 
by  a  vacant  stare.  Some  few  years  afterward, 
during  the  late  war,  I  saw  the  same  man  ap- 
proaching again,  and  I  resolved  to  check  his 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  41 

career.  Accordingly  I  stepped  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road,  and  stretched  wide  both  my 
arms,  and  cried,  'stop  sir,  on  your  peril!'  At 
this,  the  man  said,  'now  Lightfoot,  confound 
the  robber!'  At  the  same  time  Jhe  gave  the 
whip  liberally  to  the  flank  of  his  horse,  who 
bounded  off  with  such  force  that  it  appeared 
to  me,  two  such  horses,  give  them  a  place  to 
stand,  would  check  the  diurnal  motion  of  the 
earth.  An  ammunition  wagon  which  had  just 
passed  on  to  Baltimore,  had  dropped  an 
eighteen  pounder  in  the  road.  This  unlucky 
ball  lay  in  the  way  of  the  horse's  heels,  and 
the  beast,  with  the  sagacity  of  a  demon, 
clinched  it  with  one  of  his  heels  and  hurled 
it  behind  him.  I  feel  dizzy  in  relating  the 
fact,  but  so  nearly  did  the  ball  pass  my  head 
that  the  wind  thereof  blew  off  my  hat,  and 
the  ball  bedded  itself  in  that  gate  post,  as 
you  may  see  if  you  will  cast  your  eyes  that 
way.  I  have  permitted  it  to  remain  there  in 
memory  of  the  occurrence,  as  the  people  of 
Boston,  J.  am  told,  preserve  an  eighteen 
pounder  which  is  now  to  be  seen  half  bedded 
in  Brattle  Street  church." 


42  PETER  RUGG, 

I  then  took  leave  of  the  toll-gatherer,  and 
promised  him  if  I  saw  or  heard  of  his  gate,  I 
would  send  him  notice. 

A  strong  inclination  had  possessed  me  to 
arrest  Rugg,-  and  search  his  pockets,  thinking 
great  discoveries  might  be  made  in  the  ex- 
amination;  but  what  I  saw  and  heard  that 
day  convinced  me  that  no  human  force  could 
detain  Peter  Rugg  against  his  consent.  I 
therefore  determined  if  I  ever  saw  Rugg 
again  to  treat  him  in  the  gentlest  manner. 

In  pursuing  my  way  to  New  York,  I  en- 
tered on  the  turnpike  in  Trenton ;  and  when 
I  arrived  at  New  Brunswick  I  perceived  the 
road  was  newly  McAdamised.  The  small 
stones  had  just  been  laid  thereon.  As  I  pass- 
ed this  piece  of  road,  I  observed  at  regular 
distances  of  about  eight  feet,  the  stones  en- 
tirely displaced  from  spots  as  large  as  the 
circumference  of  a  half-bushel  measure.  This 
singular  appearance  induced  me  to  inquire 
the  cause  of  it  at  the  turnpike  gate.  ''Sir," 
said  the  toll-gatherer,  "I  wonder  not  at  the 
question,  but  I  am  unable  to  give  you  a  sat- 
isfactory answer.  Indeed,  sir,  I  believe  I  am 
bewitched,  and  that  the  turnpike  is  under  a 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  43 

spell  of  enchantment ;  for  what  appeared  to 
me  last  night  cannot  be  a  real  transaction, 
otherwise  a  turnpike  gate  is  a  useless  thing." 
"I  do  not  believe  in  witchcraft  or  enchant- 
ment," said  I,  "and  if  you  will  relate  circum- 
stantially what  happened  last  night,  I  will 
endeavor  to  account  for  it  by  natural  means." 
"You  may  recollect  the  night  was  uncom- 
monly dark.  Well,  sir,  just  after  I  had  closed 
the  gate  for  the  night,  down  the  turnpike,  as 
far  as  my  eye  could  reach,  I  beheld  what  at 
first  appeared  to  me,  two  armies  engaged. 
The  report  of  the  musketry,  and  the  flashes 
of  their  firelocks  were  incessant  and  continu- 
ous. As  this  strange  spectacle  approached 
me  with  the  fury  of  a  tornado,  the  noise  in- 
creased, and  the  appearance  rolled  on  in  one 
compact  body  over  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
The  most  splendid  fireworks  rose  out  of  the 
earth  and  encircled  this  moving  spectacle. 
In  the  midst  of  this  luminous  configuration 
sat  a  man,  distinctly  to  be  seen,  in  a  miser- 
able looking  chair  drawn  by  a  black  horse. 
The  divers  tints  of  the  rainbow,  the  most 
brilliant  dyes  that  the  sun  lays  on  the  lap  of 
spring,  could  not  display  a  more  beautiful, 


44  PETER  RUGG, 

radiant  and  dazzling  picture.  The  turnpike 
gate,  ought  by  the  laws  of  nature,  and  the 
laws  of  the  state,  to  have  made  a  wreck  of 
the  whole,  and  have  dissolved  the  enchant- 
ment; but  no,  the  horse  without  an  effort 
passed  over  the  gate,  and  drew  the  man  and 
chair  horizontally  after  him  without  touching 
the  bar.  This  is  what  I  call  enchantment— 
what  think  you,  sir?"  "My  friend,"  said  I, 
"you  have  grossly  magnified  a  natural  occur- 
rence. The  man  was  Peter  Rugg  on  his  way 
to  Boston.  It  is  true,  his  horse  travelled 
with  unequalled  speed,  but  as  he  reared  high 
his  fore  feet,  he  could  not  help  displacing  the 
small  stones  on  which  he  trod,  which  flying 
in  all  directions  struck  each  other  and  re- 
sounded and  scintillated.  The  top  bar  of 
your  gate  is  not  more  than  two  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  Rugg's  horse  at  every  vault 
could  easily  lift  the  carriage  over  that  gate." 
This  satisfied  Mr.  McDoubt,  who  is  a  worthy 
man  late  from  the  Highlands,  and  I  was 
pleased  at  this,  as  otherwise  he  might  have 
added  to  the  calendar  of  his  superstitions. 
Having  thus  disenchanted  matters,  I  pursued 
my  journey  homeward  to  New  York.. 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  45 

Little  did  I  expect  to  hear  anything  further 
from  Mr.  Rugg4  for  he  was  now  more  than 
twelve  hours  in  advance  of  me.  I  could  hear 
nothing  of  him  on  my  way  to  Elizabethtown. 
I  therefore  concluded  that  during  the  night 
he  had  turned  off  and  pursued  a  westerly 
direction.  But  just  before  I  arrived  at  Powles's 
Hook,  I  observed  a  considerable  collection 
of  passengers  in  the  ferry  boat  all  standing 
motionless  and  steadily  looking  at  the  same 
object.  One  of  the  ferrymen,  Mr.  Hardy, 
who  well  knew  me,  observing  my  approach, 
delayed  a  minute  in  order  to  afford  me  a 
passage,  and  coming  up,  said,  "Mr.  Dunwell, 
we  have  got  a  curiosity  on  board  that  would 
puzzle  Dr.  Mitchill."  "Some  strange  fish,  I 
suppose,  has  found  its  way  into  the  Hudson." 
"No,"  said  he,  "it  is  a  man  who  looks  as  if  he 
had  lain  hid  in  the  ark,  and  had  just  now 
ventured  out.  He  has  a  little  girl  with  him, 
the  counterpart  of  himself,  and  the  finest 
horse  you  ever  saw,  harnessed  to  the  queer- 
est looking  carriage  that  ever  was  made." 
"Ah,  Mr.  Hardy,"  said  I,  "you  have  indeed 
hooked  a  prize ;  no  one  before  you  could  ever 
detain  Peter  Rugg  long  enough  to  examine 


46  PETER  RUGG, 

him."  "Do  you  know  the  man?"  said  Mr. 
Hardy.  "No,  nobody  knows  him,  but  every- 
body has  seen  him.  Detain  him  as  long  as 
possible,  delay  the  boat  under  any  pretence, 
cut  the  gear  of  the  horse — do  anything  to 
detain  him."  As  I  entered  the  ferry  boat,  I 
was  struck  at  the  spectacle  before  me.  There 
indeed,  sat  Peter  Rugg  and  Jenny  Rugg  in 
the  chair,  and  there  stood  the  black  horse,  all 
as  quiet  as  lambs,  surrounded  by  more  than 
fifty  men  and  women,  who  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  senses  but  one.  Not  a  motion,  not  a 
breath,  not  a  rustle.  They  were  all  eye. 
Rugg  appeared  to  them  as  one  not  of  this 
world;  and  they  appeared  to  Rugg  as  a 
strange  generation.  No  one  spoke,  nor  was 
I  disposed  to  disturb  the  calm,  satisfied  to 
reconnoitre  Rugg  in  a  state  of  rest.  Presently 
Rugg  observed  in  a  low  tone  addressed  to 
no  one,  "a  new  contrivance,  horses  instead 
of  oars.  Boston  folks  are  full  of  notions." 

It  was  plain  that  Rugg  was  of  Dutch  ex- 
traction. He  had  on  three  pair  of  small 
clothes,  called  in  former  days  of  simplicity, 
breeches,  not  much  the  worse  for  wear;  but 
time  had  proved  the  fabric  and  shrunk  each 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  47 

more  than  the  other,  so  that  they  discovered 
at  the  knees  their  different  qualities  and  col- 
ors. His  several  waistcoats,  the  flaps  of  all 
which  rested  on  his  knees,  gave  him  an  ap- 
pearance rather  corpulent.  His  capacious 
drab  coat  would  supply  the  stuff  for  half  a 
dozen  modern  ones.  The  sleeves  were  like 
meal  bags — in  the  cuffs  you  might  nurse  a 
child  to  sleep.  His  hat,  probably  once  black, 
now  of  a  tan  color,  was  neither  round  nor 
crooked,  but  much  in  shape  like  the  one 
President  Monroe  wore  on  his  late  tour. 
This  dress  gave  the  rotund  face  of  Rugg  an 
antiquated  dignity.  The  man,  though  deeply 
sunburnt,  did  not  appear  to  be  more  than 
thirty  years  of  age.  He  had  lost  his  sad  and 
anxious  look,  was  quite  composed,  and  seem- 
ed happy.  The  chair  in  which  Rugg  sat,  was 
very  capacious,  evidently  made  for  service 
and  calculated  to  last  for  ages.  The  timber 
would  supply  material  for  three  modern  car- 
riages. This  chair,  like  a  Nantucket  coach, 
would  answer  for  everything  that  ever  went 
on  wheels.  The  horse,  too,  was  an  object  of 
curiosity — his  majestic  height,  his  glossy  mane 
and  tail,  gave  him  a  commanding  appearance, 


48  PETER  RUGG, 

and  his  large  open  nostrils  indicated  inex- 
haustable  wind.  It  was  apparent  that  the 
hoofs  of  his  fore  feet  had  been  spKt,  probably 
on  some  newly  McAdamised  road,  and  were 
now  growing  together  again,  so  that  John 
Spring  was  not  altogether  in  the  wrong. 

How  long  this  dumb  scene  would  have 
continued,  I  cannot  tell.  Rugg  discovered 
no  sign  of  impatience.  But  Rugg's  horse 
having  been  quiet  more  than  five  minutes, 
had  no  idea  of  standing  idle ;  he  began  to 
whinny,  and  a  moment  after,  with  his  right 
fore  foot,  he  started  a  plank.  Said  Rugg, 
"my  horse  is  impatient,  he  sees  the  North 
end.  You  must  be  quick  or  he  will  be  un- 
governable." At  these  words  the  horse 
raised  his  left  fore  foot,  and  when  he  laid  it 
down  every  inch  of  the  ferry  boat  trembled. 
Two  men  immediately  seized  Rugg's  horse 
by  the  nostrils.  The  horse  nodded  and  both 
of  them  were  in  the  Hudson.  While  we 
were  fishing  up  the  men  the  animal  was  per- 
fectly quiet.  "Fret  not  the  horse,"  said 
Rugg,  "and  he  will  do  no  harm.  He  is  only 
anxious  like  myself  to  arrive  at  yonder  beauti- 
ful shore.  He  sees  the  North  Church,  and 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  49 

smells  his  own  stable."  "Sir,"  said  I  to  Rugg, 
practising  a  little  deception,  "pray  tell  me, 
for  I  am  a  stranger  here,  what  river  is  this, 
and  what  city  is  that  opposite  ?  for  you  seem 
to  be  an  inhabitant  of  it."  "This  river,  sir, 
is  called  Mystic  River,  and  this  is  Winnisimet 
ferry,  we  have  retained  the  Indian  names,  and 
that  town  is  Boston.  Yo*u  must  indeed,  be 
a  stranger  in  these  parts  not  to  know  that 
yonder  town  is  Boston,  the  capital  of  the 
New  England  provinces."  "Pray,  sir,  how 
long  have  you  been  absent  from  Boston?" 
"Why  that  I  cannot  exactly  tell.  I  lately 
went  with  this  little  girl  of  mine  to  Concord 
to  see  my  friends,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  tell 
you  in  returning  lost  the  way  and  have  been 
travelling  ever  since.  No  one  would  direct 
me  right.  It  is  cruel  to  mislead  a  traveller. 
My  horse,  Lightfoot,  has  boxed  the  compass, 
and  it  seems  to  me  has  boxed  it  back  again. 
But  sir,  you  perceive  my  horse  is  uneasy. 
Lightfoot,  as  yet,  has  given  only  a  hint  and 
a  nod.  I  cannot  be  answerable  for  his  heels." 
At  these  words  Lightfoot  raised  his  long  tail 
and  snapped  it  as  you  would  a  whip  lash. 
The  Hudson  reverberated  with  the  sound. 


50  PETER  RUGG, 

Instantly  the  six  horses  began  to  move  the 
boat.  The  Hudson  was  a  sea  of  glass,  with- 
out a  ripple.  The  horses  from  a  smart  trot 
soon  pressed  into  a  gallop;  water  now  run 
over  the  gunwale,  and  the  ferry  boat  was 
buried  in  an  ocean  of  foam.  When  we  ar- 
rived at  New  York,  you  might  see  the  beau- 
tiful white  .wake  of  the  boat  across  the  Hud- 
son. 

Though  Rugg  refused  to  pay  toll  at  turn- 
pikes, when  Mr.  Hardy  reached  his  hand  for 
the  ferriage,  Rugg  readily  put  his  hand  into 
one  of  his  many  pockets  and  took  out  a  piece 
of  silver  which  he  handed  to  Hardy.  "What 
is  this?"  said  Mr.  Hardy.  "It  is  thirty  shill- 
ings," said  Rugg.  "It  might  have  once  been 
thirty  shillings,  old  tenor,"  said  Mr.  Hardy, 
"but  it  is  not  at  present."  "The  money  is 
good  English  coin,"  said  Rugg,  "my  grand- 
father brought  a  bag  of  them  from  England, 
and  he  had  them  hot  from  the  mint."  Hear- 
ing this,  I  approached  near  to  Rugg  and 
asked  permission  to  see  the  coin.  It  was  a 
half  crown  coined  by  the  English  Parliament 
dated  in  the  year  1649.  On  one  side  "The 
Commonwealth  of  England"  and  St.  George's 


THE  MISSING  MAN,  5  I 

cross  encircled  with  a  wreath  of  laurel.  On 
the  other,  " God with  us"  and  a  harp  and  St. 
George's  cross  united.  I  winked  to  Mr. 
Hardy  and  pronounced  it  good,  current  mon- 
ey; and  said  loudly,  I  would  not  permit  the 
gentleman  to  be  imposed  on,  for  I  would  ex- 
change the  money  myself.  On  this,  Rugg 
spoke,  "please  to  give  me  your  name,  sir." 
"My  name  is  Dunwell,  sir,"  I  replied.  "Mr. 
Dunwell,"  said  Rugg,  "you  are  the  only  hon- 
est man  I  have  seen  since  I  left  Boston.  As 
you  are  a  stranger  here,  my  house  is  your 
home ;  dame  Rugg  will  be  happy  to  see  her 
husband's  friend.  Step  into  my  chair,  sir, 
there  is  room  enough;  move  a  little,  Jenny, 
for  the  gentleman,  and  we  will  be  in  Middle 
Street  in  a  minute."  Accordingly  I  took  a 
seat  by  Peter  Rugg.  "Were  you  never  in 
Boston  before?"  said  Rugg,  "No,"  said  I. 
"Well,  you  will  now  see  the  queen  of  New 
England,  a  town  second  only  to  Philadelphia 
in  all  North  America."  "You  forget  New 
York,"  said  I.  "Poh,  New  York  is  nothing. 
Though  I  never  was  there,  I  am  told  you 
might  put  all  New  York  in  our  Mill  Pond. 
No,  sir,  New  York  I  assure  you  is  but  a  sorry 


52  PETER  RUGG, 

affair,   no  more  to  be  compared  to  Boston 
than  a  wigwam  to  a  palace. 

As  Rugg's  horse  turned  into  Pearl  Street,  I 
looked  him  as  full  in  the  face  as  good  manners 
would  allow,  and  said,  "sir,  if  this  is  Boston, 
I  acknowledge  New  York  is  not  worthy  to 
to  be  one  of  its  suburbs."  Before  we  had 
proceeded  far,  Rugg's  countenance  changed, 
he  began  to  twitter  under  the  ears,  his  eyes 
trembled  in  their  sockets,  he  was  evidently 
bewildered.  "What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Rugg? 
you  seem  disturbed."  "This  surpasses  all 
human  comprehension.  If  you  know,  sir, 
where  we  are,  I  beseech  you  to  tell  me."  "If 
this  place,"  I  replied,  "is  not  Boston,  it  must 
be  New  York."  "No,  sir,  it  is  not  Boston  ; 
nor  can  it  be  New  York.  How  could  I  be 
in  New  York  which  is  nearly  two  hundred 
miles  from  Boston?"  By  this  time  we  had 
passed  into  Broadway,  and  then  Rugg,  in 
truth,  discovered  a  chaotic  mind.  "There  is 
no  such  place  as  this  in  North  America,  this 
is  all  the  effect  of  enchantment;  this  is  a 
grand  delusion,  nothing  real;  here  is  seem- 
ingly a  great  city,  magnificient  houses,  shops 
and  goods,  men  and  women  innumerable, 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  53 

and  as  busy  as  real  life,  all  sprung  up  in  one 
night  from  the  wilderness.  Or  what  is  more 
probable,  some  tremendous  convulsion  of  na- 
ture has  thrown  London  or  Amsterdam  on 
the  shores  of  New  England.  Or  possibly  I 
may  be  dreaming,  though  the  night  seems 
rather  long,  but  before  now  I  have  sailed  in 
one  night  to  Amsterdam,  bought  goods  of 
Vandogger,  and  returned  to  Boston  before 
morning."  At  this  moment  a  hue  and  cry 
was  heard,  "stop  the  madmen,  they  will  en- 
clanger  the  lives  of  thousands !"  In  vain  hun- 
dreds attempted  to  stop  Rugg's  horse ;  Light- 
foot  interfered  with  nothing,  his  course  was 
straight  as  a  shooting  star.  But  on  my  part, 
fearful  that  before  night  I  should  find  myself 
behind  the  Alleghanies,  I  addressed  Mr.  Rugg 
in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  and  requested  him  to 
restrain  the  horse  and  permit  me  to  alight. 
"My  friend,"  said  he,  "we  shall  be  in  Boston 
before  dark,  and  dame  Rugg  will  be  most 
exceeding  glad  to  see  us."  "Mr.  Rugg," 
said  I,  "you  must  excuse  me.  Pray  look  to 
the  west  and  see  that  thunder  cloud  swelling 
with  rage  as  if  in  pursuit  of  us."  "Ah,"  said 
Rugg,  "it  is  all  in  vain  to  attempt  to  escape. 


54  PETER  RUGG, 

• 

I  know  that  cloud,  it  is  collecting-  new  wrath 
to  spend  on  my  head."  Then  checking  his 
horse  he  permitted  me  to  descend,  saying, 
"farewell,  Mr.  Dunwell,  I  shall  be  happy  to 
see  you  in  Boston,  I  live  in  Middle  Street." 

It  is  uncertain  in  what  direction  Mr.  Rugg 
pursued  his  course  after  he  disappeared  in 
Broadway;  but  one  thing  is  sufficiently  known 
to  everybody,  that  in  the  course  of  two 
months  after  he  was  seen  in  New  York,  he 
found  his  way  most  opportunely  to  Boston. 

It  seems  that  the  estate  of  Peter  Rugg  had 
recently  escheated  to  the  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts  for  want  of  heirs,  and  the 
legislature  had  ordered  the  Solicitor  General 
to  advertise  and  sell  it  at  public  auction. 
Happening  to  be  in  Boston  at  the  time,  and 
observing  his  advertisement,  I  felt  a  kindly 
curiosity  to  see  the  spot  where  Rugg  once 
lived.  Taking  the  advertisement  in  my  hand 
I  wandered  a  little  way  down  Middle  Street, 
and  without  asking  a  question  of  any  one, 
when  I  came  to  a  certain  spot  I  said  to  my- 
self, "this  is  Rugg's  estate,  I  will  proceed  no 
further;  this  must  be  the  spot,  it  is  a  coun- 
terpart of  Peter  Rugg."  The  premises,  in- 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  55 

deed,  looked  as  if  they  had  accomplished  a 
sad  prophesy.  Fronting  on  Middle  Street, 
they  extended  in  the  rear  to  Ann  Street,  and 
embraced  about  half  an  acre  of  land.  It  was 
not  uncommon  in  former  times  to  have  half 
an  acre  for  a  house  lot,  for  an  acre  of  land 
then,  in  many  parts  of  Boston,  was  not  more 
valuable  than  a  foot  in  some  places  at  pres- 
ent. The  old  mansion  house  had  become 
powder-post,  and  been  blown  away.  One 
other  building,  uninhabited,  stood  ominous 
courting  dilapidation.  The  street  had  been 
so  much  raised  that  the  bed  chamber  had  de- 
scended to  the  kitchen  and  was  level  with 
the  street.  The  house  seemed  conscious  of 
its  fate,  and  as  though  tired  of  standing  there 
the  front  was  fast  retreating  from  the  rear, 
and  waiting  the  next  south  wind  to  project 
itself  into  the  street.  If  the  most  wary  an- 
imals had  sought  a  place  of  refuge,  here  they 
would  have  rendezvoused.  Here  under  the 
ridge  pole  the  crow  could  have  perched  in 
safety,  and  in  the  recesses  below  you  might 
have  caught  the  fox  and  weazel  asleep.  "The 
hand  of  destiny,"  said  I,  "has  pressed  heavily 
on  this  spot;  still  heavier  on  the  former 


56  PETER  RUGG, 

owners.  Strange  that  so  large  a  lot  of  land 
as  this  should  want  an  heir !  Yet  Peter  Rugg 
at  this  day  might  pass  his  own  door  stone  and 
ask,  'who  once  lived  here?'" 

The  auctioneer  appointed  by  the  Solicitor 
to  sell  this  estate,  was  a  man  of  eloquence  as 
many  of  the  auctioneers  of  Boston  are.  The 
occasion  seemed  to  warrant,  and  his  duty 
urged  him  to  make  a  display.  He  addressed 
his  audience  as  follows.  "The  estate,  gentle- 
men, which  we  offer  you  this  day,  was  once 
the  property  of  a  family  now  extinct.  It  has 
escheated  to  the  Commonwealth  for  want  of 
heirs.  Lest  any  one  of  you  should  be  de- 
terred from  bidding  on  so  large  an  estate  as 
this,  for  fear  of  a  disputed  title,  I  am  author- 
ized by  the  Solicitor  General  to  proclaim  that 
the  purchaser  shall  have  the  best  of  all  title?, 
a  warranty  deed  from  the  Commonwealth. 
I  state  this,  gentlemen,  because  I  know  there 
is  an  idle  rumor  in  this  vicinity,  that  one 
Peter  Rugg,  the  original  owner  of  this  estate, 
is  still  living.  This  rumor,  gentlemen,  has 
no  foundation  in  the  nature  of  things.  It 
originated,  about  two  years  since,  from  the 
incredible  story  of  one  Jonathan  Dunwell  of 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  57 

New  York.  Mrs.  Croft,  indeed,  whose  hus- 
band I  see  present,  and  whose  mouth  waters 
for  this  estate,  has  countenanced  this  fiction. 
But,  gentlemen,  was  it  ever  known  that  any 
estate,  especially  an  estate  of  this  value,  lay 
unclaimed  for  nearly  half  a  century,  if  an  heir 
ever  so  remote  was  existing?  For,  gentle- 
men, all  agree  that  old  Peter  Rugg,  if  living, 
would  be  at  least  one  hundred  years  of  age. 
It  is  said  he  and  his  daughter  with  a  horse 
and  chaise  were  missed  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury ago,  and  because  they  never  returned 
home,  forsooth,  they  must  be  now  living,  and 
will,  some  day,  come  and  claim  this  great 
estate.  Such  logic,  gentlemen,  never  led  to 
a  good  investment.  Let  not  this  idle  story 
cross  the  noble  purpose  of  consigning  these 
ruins  to  the  genius  of  architecture.  If  such 
a  contingency  could  check  the  spirit  of  enter- 
prise, farewell  to  all  mercantile  excitement. 
Your  surplus  money,  instead  of  refreshing 
your  sleep  with  the  golden  dreams  of  new 
sources  of  speculation,  would  turn  to  the 
nightmare.  A  man's  money,  if  not  employed 
serves  only  to  disturb  his  rest.  Look,  then, 
to  the  prospect  before  you.  Here  is  half  an 


58  PETER  RUGG, 

acre  of  land,  more  than  twenty  thousand 
square  feet,  a  corner  lot  with  wonderful  ca- 
pabilities; none  of  your  contracted  lots  of 
forty  feet  by  fifty,  where  in  dog  days  you  can 
breathe  only  through  your  scuttles.  On  the 
contrary,  an  architect  cannot  contemplate 
this  extensive  lot  without  rapture,  for  here  is 
room  enough  for  his  genius  to  shame  the 
temple  of  Solomon.  Then  the  prospect,  how 
commanding!  To  the  east,  so  near  the  At- 
lantic, that  Neptune  freighted  with  the  select 
treasures  of  the  whole  earth  can  knock  at 
your  door  with  his  trident.  From  the  west 
all  the  produce  of  the  river  of  Paradise,  the 
Connecticut,  will  soon,  by  the  blessings  of 
steam  railways  and  canals,  pass  under  your 
windows;  and  thus,  on  this  spot,  Neptune 
shall  marry  Ceres,  and  Pomona  from  Rox- 
bury  and  Flora  from  Cambridge  shall  dance 
at  the  wedding. 

"Gentlemen  of  science,  men  of  taste,  ye  of 
the  Literary  Emporium,  for  I  perceive  many 
of  you  present,  to  you  this  is  holy  ground. 
If  the  spot  over  which  in  times  past,  a  hero 
left  the  print  of  a  footstep  is  now  sacred,  of 
what  price  is  the  birthplace  of  one  who  all 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  59 

the  world  knows  was  born  in  Middle  Street, 
directly  opposite  this  lot;  and  who,  if  his 
birthplace  was  not  well  known,  would  now  be 
claimed  by  more  than  seven  cities.  To  you, 
then,  the  value  of  these  premises  must  be  in- 
estimable. For,  ere  long,  there  will  rise  in 
front  view  of  the  edifice  to  be  erected  here, 
a  monument,  the  wonder  and  veneration  of 
the  world.  A  column  shall  spring  to  the 
clouds,  and  on  that  column  will  be  engraven 
one  word  that  will  convey  all  that  is  wise  in 
intellect,  useful  in  science,  good  in  morals, 
prudent  in  counsel,  and  benevolent  in  prin- 
ciple ;  a  name  when  living,  the  patron  of  the 
poor,  the  delight  of  the  cottage,  and  the  ad- 
miration of  kings ;  now  dead,  worth  the  whole 
seven  wise  men  of  Greece.  Need  I  tell  you 
his  name?  He  fixed  the  thunder  and  guided 
the  lightning ! 

"Men  of  the  North  End!  Need  I  appeal 
to  your  patriotism  in  order  to  enhance  the 
value  of  this  lot?  The  earth  affords  no  such 
scenery  as  this.  There,  around  that  corner, 
lived  James  Otis;  here,  Samuel  Adams — 
there,  Joseph  Warren — and  around  that  other 
corner,  Josiah  Quincy.  Here  was  the  birth- 


60  PETER  RUGG, 

place  of  Freedom ;  here,  Liberty  was  born, 
nursed  and  grew  to  manhood.  Here,  man 
was  new  created.  Here  is  the  nursery  of 
American  Independence — I  am  too  modest 
— here  commenced  the  emancipation  of  the 
world.  A  thousand  generations  hence,  mil- 
lions of  men  will  cross  the  Atlantic  just  to 
look  at  the  North  End  of  Boston.  Your 
fathers, — what  do  I  say?  yourselves,  yes,  this 
moment  I  behold  several  attending  this  auc- 
tion who  lent  a  hand  to  rock  the  cradle  of 
Independence. 

"Men  of  speculation !  Ye  who  are  deaf  to 
everything  except  the  sound  of  money,  you 
I  know,  will  give  me  both  of  your  ears  when 
I  tell  you  the  city  of  Boston  must  have  a 
piece  of  this  estate  in  order  to  widen  Ann 
Street.  Do  you  hear  me?  do  you  all  hear 
me?  I  say  the  city  must  have  a  large  piece 
of  this  land  in  order  to  w^iden  Ann  Street. 
What  a  chance  !  The  city  scorns  to  take  a 
man's  land  for  nothing.  If  they  seize  your 
property,  they  are  generous  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice.  The  only  oppression  is, 
you  are  in  danger  of  being  smothered  under 
a  load  of  wealth.  Witness  the  old  lady  who 


THE  MISSING  MAN.  6  I 

lately  died  of  a  broken  heart  when  the  Mayor 
paid  her  for  a  piece  of  her  kitchen  garden. 
All  the  faculty  agreed  that  the  sight  of  the 
treasure,  which  the  Mayor  incautiously  paid 
her  in  dazzling  dollars  warm  from  the  mint, 
sped  joyfully  all  the  blood  of  her  body  into 
her  heart,  and  rent  it  i-n  raptures.  Therefore 
let  him  who  purchases  the  estate  fear  his 
good  fortune,  and  not  Peter  Rugg.  Bid  then 
liberally,  and  do  not  let  the  name  of  Rugg 
damp  your  ardor.  How  much  will  you  give 
per  foot  for  this  estate?"  Thus  spoke  the 
auctioneer,  and  gracefully  waved  his  ivory 
hammer.  From  fifty  to  seventy-five  cents 
per  foot  were  offered  in  a  few  moments.  It 
labored  from  seventy-five  to  ninety.  At 
length  one  dollar  was  offered.  The  auction- 
eer seemed  satisfied,  and  looking  at  his  watch 
said  he  would  knock  off  the  estate  in  five 
minutes  if  no  one  offered  more.  There  was 
a  deep  silence  during  this  short  period. 
While  the  hammer  was  suspended  a  strange 
rumbling  noise  was  heard  which  arrested  the 
attention  of  every  one.  Presently  it  was  like 
the  sound  of  many  shipwrights  driving  home 
the  bolts  of  a  seventy-four.  As  the  sound 


62  PETER  RUGG, 

approached  nearer,  some  exclaimed,  "the 
buildings  in  the  new  market  are  falling." 
Others  said,  "no,  it  is  an  earthquake,  we  can 
perceive  the  earth  joggle."  Others  said, 
"not  so,  the  sound  proceeds  from  Hanover 
Street,  and  approaches  nearer."  This  proved 
true,  for  presently  Peter  Rugg  was  in  the 
midst  of  us. 

"Alas,  Jenny,"  said  Peter,  "I  am  ruined; 
our  house  has  been  burnt,  and  here  are  all 
our  neighbors  around  the  ruins.  Heaven 
grant  that  your  mother  dame  Rugg  is  safe." 
"They  don't  look  like  our  neighbors,"  said 
Jenny,  "but  sure  enough  our  house  is  burnt, 
and  nothing  left  but  the  door  stone  and  an 
old  cedar  post — do  ask  where  mother  is." 

In  the  meantime  more  than  a  thousand 
men  had  surrounded  Rugg  and  his  horse  and 
chair;  yet  neither  Rugg  personally,  nor  his 
horse  and  carriage  attracted  more  attention 
than  the  auctioneer.  The  confident  look  and 
searching  eye  of  Rugg,  to  every  one  present, 
carried  more  conviction  that  the  estate  was 
his,  than  could  any  parchment  or  paper  with 
signature  and  seal.  The  impression  which 
the  auctioneer  had  just  made  on  the  company 


THE   MISSING   MAX.  63 

was  effaced  in  a  moment:  and  although  the 
latter  words  of  the  auctioneer  were  "fear  not 
Peter  Rugg,"  the  moment  he  met  the  eye  of 
Rugg  his  occupation  was  gone,  his  arm  fell 
down  to  his  hip,  his  late  lively  hammer  hung 
heavy  in  his  hand,  and  the  auction  was  for- 
gotten. The  black  horse,  too,  gave  his  evi- 
dence. He  knew  his  journey  was  ended,  for 
he  stretched  himself  into  a  horse  and  a  half, 
rested  his  cheek  bone  over  the  cedar  post, 
and  whinneyed  thrice,  causing  his  harness  to 
tremble  from  headstall  to  crupper.  Rugg" 
then  stood  upright  in  his  chair,  and  asked 
with  some  authority,  <4who  has  demolished 
my  house  in  my  absence?  for  I  see  no  signs 
of  a  conflagration.  I  demand  to  know  by 
what  accident  this  has  happened,  and  where- 
fore this  collection  of  strange  people  has  as- 
sembled before  my  door  stone.  I  thought  I 
knew  every  man  in  Boston,  but  you  appear 
to  me  a  new  generation.  Yet  I  am  familiar 
with  many  of  the  countenances  here  present, 
and  I  can  call  some  of  you  by  name;  but  in 
truth  I  do  not  recollect  that  before  this  mo- 
ment, I  ever  saw  any  one  of  you.  There,  I 
am  certain,  is  a  Winslow,  and  here  a  Sargent ; 


64  PETER  RUGG, 

there  stands  a  Sewall,  and  next  to  him  a 
Dudley.  Will  none  of  you  speak  to  me? 
Or  is  this  a  delusion?  I  see,  indeed,  many 
forms  of  men,  and  no  want  of  eyes,  but  of 
motion,  speech  and  hearing  you  seem  to  be 
destitute.  Strange !  will  no  one  inform  me 
who  has  demolished  my  house?"  Then 
spake  a  voice  from  the  crowd,  but  from  whom 
it  came  I  could  not  discover:  "There  is 
nothing  strange  here  but  yourself,  Mr.  Rugg. 
Time,  which  destroys  and  renews  all  things, 
has  dilapidated  your  house,  and  brought  us 
here.  You  have  suffered  many  years  under 
an  illusion.  The  tempest  which  you  pro- 
fanely defied  at  Menotomy  has  at  length 
subsided;  but  you  will  never  see  home,  for 
your  house  and  wife  and  neighbors  have  all 
disappeared.  Your  estate,  indeed,  remains, 
but  no  home.  You  were  cut  off  from  the 
last  age,  and  you  never  can  be  fitted  to  the 
present.  Your  home  is  gone,  and  you  can 
never  have  another  home  in  this  world." 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


LD21A-10m-8,'73 
(R1902S10)476 — A-31 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


M180558 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


